


Someday

by PipMer



Series: Declarations [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Donovan, Declarations - Sherlock Style, Fluff and Angst, Gift Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prompt Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipMer/pseuds/PipMer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve.  Not even when it comes to - no, <i>especially</i> when it comes to - the most important person in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prettybirdy979](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettybirdy979/gifts).



> This is a gift fic for prettybirdy979, to help cheer her up after a challenging week. I asked her to give me a prompt and this is what she asked for: _Sherlock and John hugging after some kind of close call. Kissing is welcome._
> 
>  
> 
> I sort of went overboard and expanded the prompt. She assures me she doesn't mind :D
> 
>  
> 
> I polished this up a bit after posting on tumblr, so this is a slightly cleaned-up version of the original one.

 

 

 

Sherlock Holmes was not a man prone to outward expressions of affection.   Anybody who knew him at all knew this about him, and no one knew him better than John Watson.  There were very few exceptions to this rule.  Mrs Hudson had been one from the beginning.   Molly Hooper became another, especially after Sherlock’s return.   

 

To a certain extent,  John himself was exempt from Sherlock’s normally aloof and reserved manner.  From the very beginning of their acquaintance, Sherlock had no compunctions about invading his personal space and manhandling him in order to rush him out the door, or grabbing his wrist to pull him along in his wake when in pursuit of a criminal.  As time passed, Sherlock relaxed in his new friend’s presence, and gradually became comfortable with the occasional clasp on the shoulder and increasing frequency of casual touches. 

 

But to everyone else, he was an unapproachable presence, enigmatic and untouchable.  His arrogance and extreme self-assurance kept most people at a distance, and the detective seemed to prefer it that way.  Sherlock would always be Sherlock, and if their physical relationship never went any further, John would still count himself lucky to be included in the inner circle of people he had allowed himself to care about.

 

So when they finally crossed the last boundary between friendship and something more by falling into bed together after a highly charged case, John was neither surprised nor hurt when Sherlock insisted they keep their new relationship within the walls of 221b.  It made sense, really.  They both made enemies on an almost daily basis, and they had to be careful not to reveal any weaknesses that could be taken advantage of.  After Moriarty, neither one of them was willing to risk the other any more than was strictly necessary. 

 

 

It was all worth it, John decided as he tried to catch his breath from their recent exertions.  He was the only one who got to be here like this, with Sherlock.  He wouldn’t have it any other way.  He pressed a grateful kiss to the sweaty temple of the sated consulting detective in his arms.

 

 

It was fine.  It was _all fine_.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“How do you stand it?” Sally Donovan asked as she stood by John at the crime scene.  They both watched Sherlock as he pranced around, stopping every so often to crouch down and sniff at the body.  His eyes were bright and alight with interest.  Sally grimaced in disgust, arms crossed over her chest. 

 

“How do I stand what?” John asked mildly.  He didn’t mind her presence so much anymore.  She and Sherlock still couldn’t stand each other; they sniped at each other constantly whenever they were forced to interact.   But now there was a subtle subtext of understanding that ran through all of their dealings ever since Sherlock’s resurrection a year ago.  Sally understood she had been wrong and too quick to pin blame on Sherlock, influenced as she was by her intense dislike of him.  Conversely, Sherlock believed that she had only done what any good investigator would have when presented with such damning evidence.  Neither one of them spoke these things out loud to one another, but the sentiment was felt just the same.

 

“His total lack of empathy for the victims and their families?  I still think he gets off on these murders.  Did you notice he didn’t say one word to the victim’s children?  He’s only focussed on the puzzle, he doesn’t care that lives have been ruined, and not just that of the murdered woman.”

 

“He cares; he just can’t let it distract him from solving the crime.  He knows other people are better at offering comfort, so he relegates that to them so he can concentrate on the murder.”

 

Sally sniffed.  “Still.  You’d think he could at least offer them a pat on the shoulder or something, maybe reassure them that they‘re safe.  They’re just kids, for god’s sakes.”

 

John shrugged.  “He doesn’t do well making himself vulnerable in front of strangers.  He has to feel connected to someone before he allows himself to give comfort – or receive it, for that matter.”

 

Sally snorted.  “And have you experienced this softer side of Sherlock Holmes yourself, Dr Watson?  Because from what I’ve seen, he continues to treat you like some dogsbody, not like an equal partner or friend.”

 

John opened his mouth to retort, _yes, in fact I HAVE experienced that, every night in my bed for the past two months,_ when Sherlock leapt up from his kneeling position and whirled around, eyes taking in every corner of the immaculate and tastefully decorated sitting room. 

 

“ _LESTRADE!_ I thought your officers made sure the area was secure.”

 

Lestrade poked his head out of the kitchen.  “We did!”

 

Sherlock wrinkled his brow, frowning as the gears in his head frantically churned.  His eyes widened and he let out a gasp.

 

“The murderer…” he intoned dramatically, “….is _still here.”_

At Sherlock’s pronouncement,  the man who had been standing off to the side behind John and Sally (the victim’s “grieving” brother) lunged forward and grabbed John, gripping him in a choke-hold and ramming the muzzle of a gun under his chin.

 

“Back off!”  he screamed, eyes wild and hand shaking.  “Back off or I’ll shoot the good doctor’s brains out, I swear!”

 

John knew that Sherlock cared about him  - in his more optimistic moments he even dared to think he might _love_ him.  The evidence had been right in front of him several times – at the pool, when the American agent put a gun at his temple, when Sherlock pleaded with him in a panicked voice to _“stay exactly where you are”._ But he had never seen the proof so clearly displayed as it was at that moment.  The stricken expression on his friend’s face did more to convince him of his place on Sherlock’s list of priorities than any ardent words of declaration ever could.  If his position wasn’t so precarious, he would be giddy with joy and relief.

 

“That’s right.  Easy, everyone.”  The murderer took two cautious steps backwards towards the door, dragging John along with him.  “Nobody move and nobody else has to die.”  Without warning, he raised his arm and cracked the butt of his gun down hard against the side of John’s head.  John’s eyes rolled back as he dropped like a stone.

 

The brother turned and rushed towards the door, but he didn’t get two steps before Sally tackled him roughly to the ground.  She viciously yanked his head up by the hair and snarled, “Not so fast, you low-life orphan-making scumbag.”   She yanked his arms behind his back and slapped the cuffs on, then dragged him none too gently to his feet.

 

“John!”  Sherlock was immediately at his friend’s side, hands fluttering over his body.  John groaned as he blinked back the stars in front of his eyes.  Gentle hands carded through his hair and tenderly palpated the nascent lump on his head.  He slowly raised himself to a sitting position, wincing against the throbbing pain.  He raised his hands up to inspect the wound himself, when he found himself with an armful of consulting detective.  Sherlock’s embrace was fierce and reeked of desperation.  John found himself squeezing back just as tightly.  His heart soared at the thought that Sherlock – _Sherlock_ was _hugging_ him – in public.  In fact, in front of half of Scotland Yard’s finest.  His face flushed with both pleasure and embarrassment. 

 

Then Sherlock pulled back, eyes intently searching John’s.  Wordless communication passed between them, as effortless and understood as the day they first met.  John smiled, and nodded his acquiescence to his partner’s unspoken question.  Sherlock placed both hands on the sides of John’s face, leaned in… and placed a soft, tender kiss on his lips.

 

 John smiled into the kiss and started to enthusiastically return it, until he remembered exactly where they were.  The home of a dead woman, whose body still lay just feet away.  He pulled back from the kiss, but stayed within the circle of Sherlock’s arms.  Sherlock kept him enfolded in his embrace until John felt steady enough to stand on his own.

 

With the killer safely in custody, Lestrade released them both from the scene with the promise that they would be at the station first thing in the morning to give their statements.  Sherlock tucked John protectively against his side and slowly coaxed him out the door.  As they passed Sally and her prisoner, Sherlock nodded at her and mouthed a silent 'thank you'.  Sally raised one eyebrow and nodded back, mouth curving upwards in a knowing smirk.  

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sherlock insisted that John have himself checked out at A&E.  John had to capitulate if he didn’t want to feel like a total hypocrite after always making Sherlock do the same after a head injury, no matter how mild it usually turned out to be.  After being assured that John did not, in fact, suffer from a concussion, Sherlock herded him out of the hospital with a proprietary hand placed on the small of his back.  John couldn’t keep the grin from his face.

 

Once seated in the back of a cab, Sherlock silently took John’s hand in his own, entwining their fingers together and squeezing gently.  Their hands remained clasped together during the entire ride home.  At about the halfway point, Sherlock leaned over and placed an impromptu kiss on John’s cheek.

 

John thought he could get used to these subtle public displays of affection very quickly.

 

Hours later, they lay wrapped around each other as Sherlock’s 1000 thread count sheets wrapped around them.  Safely cocooned within their own little universe, Sherlock finally felt secure enough to let down his walls and assuage his partner’s fears.

 

“John.”

 

John stirred just enough to bury his nose in Sherlock’s neck and sigh, “Yes?”

 

Sherlock took a halting breath, his fingers grazing along John’s arm.  “You know that I do, right?  I realise you’ve been wondering.”

 

“Not actually a mind reader, Sherlock,” John mumbled before emitting a silent yawn.

 

“That I – care about you in the way that you’ve been hoping for.  I may not say the words, John, but you must know that I do.  If you need a public declaration of some sort, we could register for – “

 

Anxiety bloomed in John’s chest.  “No!  I mean – I don’t need you to jump through any hoops to know how you feel about me, Sherlock.”  John tilted his head up to press a kiss to Sherlock’s jaw.  “I’m quite happy with the way things are right now.  Nothing has to change.  You are who you are.  I know that you love me.  I don’t need declarations, public or otherwise.”

 

Something unclenched inside Sherlock as gratitude welled up within him.  He kissed John’s temple and whispered in his ear, “Thank you.  You deserve those things, though.  Someday you shall have them, I promise.”

 

John smiled into Sherlock’s chest.  “I know,” he replied softly.

 

Sherlock fell asleep with the assurance of unconditional acceptance following him into his dreams.  John fell asleep with one word at the forefront of his consciousness, filling him with eager anticipation and expectation.

 

_Someday._

    

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> Sequel now up: [Today](http://archiveofourown.org/works/948737)


End file.
